Page:Poems Sigourney, 1834.pdf/126

Rh Of self-denying fortitude, which stirs Sometimes in woman's soul, and nerves it strong For life's severe and unapplauded tasks, Sprang up at his appeal, or whether He Who ruled the ravens, wrought within her heart, I cannot say, but to the stranger's hand She gave the bread. Then, round the famished boy Clasping her widowed arms, she strained him close To her wan bosom, while his hollow eye Wondering and wishfully regarded her With ill-subdued reproach. A blessing fell From the majestic guest, and every morn The empty store which she had wept at eve, Mysteriously replenished woke the joy That ancient Israel felt, when round their camp The manna lay like dew. Thus many days They fed, and the poor famine-stricken boy Looked up with a clear eye, while vigorous health Flushed with unwonted crimson his pure cheek, And bade the fair flesh o'er his wasted limbs Come like a garment. The lone widow mused On her changed lot, yet to Jehovah's name Gave not the praise, but when the silent moon Moved forth all radiant, on her star-girt throne, Uttered a heathen's gratitude, and hailed In the deep chorus of Zidonian song "Astarte, queen of Heaven!" But then there came A day of wo. That gentle boy, in whom His mother lived, for whom alone she deemed Time's weary heritage a blessing, died. Wildly the tides of passionate grief broke forth, And on the prophet of the Lord, her lip Called with indignant frenzy. So he came And from her bosom took the breathless clay, And bore it to his chamber. There he knelt